Song and Steel
by MintToy
Summary: "Annette can never fathom how slowly, and then somehow all at once, he became someone to lose." - Post time skip.


Annette never meant to lose her composure, especially in battle.

It starts when she inflicts the final blow on the Gloucester heir – a quick gale casted for a counter. Had she known it would leave Lorenz at death's door, she might not have done it. Her professor's words suddenly throb in her head: _Kill or be killed_. She finds little comfort in the saying, because Annette doesn't have Byleth's mercenary background or ironed mindset. Instead, all she thinks is '_What have I done?_' and she repeats it to herself like a mantra.

"Annette!" Someone is calling her from behind. She can't distinguish above the noise.

She starts forward at a run, stumbling over dead bodies and slipping when her foot catches the end of a lance in her path. When she gets to him, she makes quick work to haul Lorenz's body off his fallen steed and lay him flat on the ground. She doesn't know when her arms became strong enough to drag a bloodied man almost twice her size out of tangled heap, but she shows no signs of stopping.

She tries to rouse him, checks his pulses, searches for signs of life – anything – but his blood just coats more of her hands.

"Annette, you idiot! Get out of there!"

When she looks up, Felix is too close. In a hurry, he catches her around the waist and starts pulling her backwards. When she pushes against him, he has to hook his arm around her chest to hold her back.

"He's gone!" he shouts in her ear, because she's still squirming.

"No! At least let me-"

A demonic beast is nearby. Fire is heaved and belched in their direction, setting the wooden rafters and planks and grounds ablaze. Suddenly the world is ignited in flame. She coughs twice as noxious fumes and smoke penetrate the air around them. Heat blankets her face as a nearby pillar catches fire. It cracks and falls, blocking her path to Lorenz's body, and she would have been caught in the destruction if not for-

A light-headedness suddenly overcomes her.

She feels her knees buckle, arms fall limp and then she slackens in his arms. Her mind is too shocked to think clear, much less chide herself for recklessness. Felix lets out a heavy sigh from behind. She knows because she feels his chest move and his breath grazes her cheek.

A moment later, she's pulled to her feet. His touch is considerably gentler, less forceful.

"Come on," he pipes up, quickly appraising her balance when he lets go.

She has no choice but to listen. When he takes her arm, she lets him lead.

* * *

War is a nightmare of itself, but taking down familiar faces is a different horror. After the battle, Annette ruminates the thought as she kneels down by Lorenz's body, still distinguishable in spite of the burns and charred skin. She offers him a moment of silence because it's all she can do. She whispers a soft prayer because it makes her feel better.

Felix stands beside her, arms crossed and gaze focused on the ground. Whether he's here begrudgingly or not, she does not know, but his presence and patience are small comforts.

When she rises to stand, Felix meets her eyes with wary anticipation.

She sighs. "…I guess there's no turning back."

He shakes his head.

The image of his corpse is already burned in her mind. A shiver tracks her spine. "Could we_ ever_ get over something like this?" she adds, more as an afterthought.

He shrugs. "I doubt it, but maybe ask me again later, when the war is over."

Having accepted the fact, she holds her hands between them so he can see them too. Like pouring alcohol over a festered wound, she flips over her palms and stares at the blood-soaked gloves. She winces and flashes a pained expression, digesting the awful sight. She knows she'll carry this guilt for life.

"Are you okay?"

She pulls her gloves by the fingers first before removing them completely. To her horror, the blood is soaked even to the skin of her hands. _Damn._ A shadow falls on her face and a sigh escapes her lips. She tucks those gloves deep into her pocket, out of sight, but not out of mind.

"I will be," she says, attempting some level of optimism, even though her voice is weary. It occurs to her that she's killed before – a multitude of times, too. In theory, this time should be no different. It seems pathetic, in hindsight, how easily she lost herself when she's casted storms to rain down her enemies before. She laughs at herself a little, hollow as it is. "…I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. When I saw him on the ground, I just wanted to save him so badly...I didn't mean for you to-"

"Stop."

She raises him a brow. She forgets the words on her tongue once she sees his softened features, a rare sight to behold.

"What's done is done. You did what you had to. I don't want to hear excuses or apologies, especially not for my sake," he tells her point-blank. He's never been a man of soft words anyway, not that she expected him to offer any. It's a tough, sturdy kind of comfort. Sometimes it offers more than soothing words can afford.

"Thank you, then," she says, mirroring his softened gaze. If he won't accept her apologies, he might as well accept her thanks.

"Sure," he scoffs before turning away, which is the most acknowledgement she'll get out of him.

He stays by her side, and she's grateful.

* * *

"Professor?"

Annette peeks into the Captain's Quarters. After the battle at the bridge, Byleth has quietly taken to moving all her things to Jeralt's old room. Annette thinks her Professor can no longer bear the thought of sleeping in the student dormitories anymore, but it's only speculation. Her professor remains a wild conundrum, even now.

"Come in."

Byleth's attention is focused largely on paperwork, brows creasing as her eyes flit across the paper. Annette can only assume the document is highly vexing, but she puts it away in a flash and sets down her feather quill, eyes now trained to her student. Her expression is blank and seemingly cold and there are traces of darkness under her eyes. When Annette asks if she slept last night, Byleth dismisses her concern.

"Professor, I'm looking for advice. In our last battle, I…well, you see, I did something that I'm not sure I can…"

Somehow, her point gets across.

The professor sighs softly. "Annette, I apologize you had to experience that. I understand it's difficult engaging in battle with former classmates and peers," she starts, tone neutral, robotic even, in spite of her words. "Awful as it is, you will never forget it. Believe me, I've also taken down foes who were once my friends."

"I know. I just wish it didn't have to end like that," she tells honestly.

Byleth's eyes darken suddenly and for a moment, Annette fears she spoke out of line.

"You regret it now, but a harsh lesson I must teach you is that war does not discriminate between you and your enemies," Byleth says so evenly, as if she's giving one of her lectures. Annette doesn't notice how hard she clenches a fist under the desk. "It will take one after the other, and if you are lucky, you owe it to yourself to live another day."

_Hmm. That's one way to put it. _

Annette knows her Professor isn't one for soothing words either. It is most apparent when she handles Dimitri's outbursts and violent tendencies with a certain hardiness. He needs someone like that – someone to set him in place, not coddle and feed his murderous fantasies. People seem to think it's her job as his teacher. Annette knows it goes beyond that. Her father mentioned once how forgiving someone's darkness implies a love beyond measure. She thinks Dimitri loves her too, even if he doesn't know it yet.

When Byleth asks if she has any other questions, Annette shakes her head. The rest of her day is spent kneeling by the church pews, as most people do when they have sins to repent.

* * *

It's almost sunset. Her father is usually here by now.

Lately they've been spending dinners with each other. It's always a quiet affair and food rations from the kitchens are never tasty, but it's taken a long time to get here. Gustave used to brush her off with a blankness that rivalled even the professor's mercenary gaze. He is distant and haunted even now, but she refuses to be deterred. Somewhere along the push and pull, they've agreed to make things work. At the end of the day, she's just grateful he no longer denies being her father.

After a few more minutes, Annette gets up and looks for him. She starts with his usual haunts: greenhouse, fishing dock, marketplace. Up next is the knight's hall. She's not looking to stay so she slips in quietly.

"Father? Are you- Bah!" Her eyes connect with a sharp navy blue pair and she reacts with alarm. Automatically, she straightens her spine and bows at the waist, as she would to any duke of Faerghus. "I-I'm so sorry for intruding! Lord Rodrigue, I should have knocked before entering. Please forgive me."

He'd been in the middle of sorting documents and letters when she entered. Truly, he's baffled by her insistent apology more than anything. When Annette looks back up, his expression molds into one of mild interest. He stands and abandons his work on the table.

"No need for apologies, Miss Dominic. Your presence is quite welcome, in fact."

Her gaze is tinged with confusion. "…Pardon?"

He suppresses the urge to chuckle at her nervous energy. "You haven't seen my son, have you?"

Annette fidgets with the ends of her gloves, thinking it's been a long while since she's seen Felix at all. "Err, I'm afraid not."

She finds no disappointment on Rodrigue's end. Rather, his gaze wanders in quiet contemplation. "He was supposed to meet me here for a spar," he explains, not with any dismay or setback. "Sometimes, I find it's the only way I can get him to speak with me."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Her expression is largely wooden, only because she doesn't know what to make of it. Felix has openly expressed his distaste for his father before, but she figured some of it had to do with his own stubbornness. He had a penchant for petty behaviour back then.

"Well, Felix can be quite fixed in his ways sometimes. I'm sure you know that as his classmate," he reflects, maintaining a warm tone of voice despite their talk. He nudges his head in Annette's direction, shifting course. "How are things between you and your father, by the way?"

She lights up. "It's better, actually. We fight alongside each other and share dinners…Lately we've been catching up on the lost years. I'm glad we found each other when we did."

He shoots her a fond smile of approval. "I hope you continue to remain positive, my dear. Gustave has a troubled past, but he means well. He also loves you more than anything. In fact, he let me know the other day how proud he is to see how strong you've become."

She flushes a little, taking the compliment in stride. It feels nice to hear it from someone else. She understands it will take a while before her father is comfortable enough to say it directly to her.

Annette catches Rodrigue getting a glimpse of the clock, no doubt wondering whether his son has forgotten their meeting altogether. In secret, Annette hopes Felix isn't that cruel. She knows the weight and burden of a strained relationship herself, but forgiveness is difficult too.

Rodrigue sighs softly. "Perhaps he's not showing up," he concedes. This time, the disappointment in his voice is more palpable, as much as he tries to hide it. He tips his head towards her with a raised brow. "…I hope he's not giving you the same kind of trouble."

She shakes her head resolutely. "Oh. He's no trouble at all, actually."

It's Rodrigue's turn to be surprised and his curious expression begs for an explanation.

Unconsciously, her fingers start worrying with the edge of her shawl. She doesn't know if her cheeks are flushed pink or red, only knows she generally feels hot. "Felix, well…he's kind to me, for the most part. I owe him a lot. He's saved my life more times than I can count too. It's actually kind of embarrassing."

Rodrigue gazes with keen interest. "Is that true?"

"Of course," she insists, and not just because she's talking to his father. "He works so hard, especially with his training. Seeing him on the grounds everyday makes me want to become stronger."

"How enlightening," the man comments, quietly musing to himself. "You speak highly of him."

She looks at him strange, thinking she has no reason to speak otherwise. A lot of teasing and playful banter is exchanged between them, but she's never mistaken any of it for cruelty.

"I suppose it's fitting…" continues Rodrigue, her confusion going unnoticed. He puts a hand to his chin in contemplation. "You should know he speaks highly of you too."

Annette did not know it was possible her face could heat up more, but it does. Her colour must be beet red by now. Embarrassed, she looks away to salvage any sort of control. She doesn't notice Rodrigue chuckling at her unexpected predicament. Oddly enough, Felix teases her the same way just to get that reaction.

She startles with a yelp when the double doors swing wide open, rushing in a breeze of cool air. Felix waltzes in casually despite the awkward atmosphere, raises a brow at the pair and unceremoniously drops his weapons on one side of the room. Annette almost smiles in relief, and observes as he gets to work, quickly dusting his hands with powder before moving to the sword rack.

He shoots a pointed gaze at his father first. "Spilling all my secrets, old man?"

"Why, I would never," Rodrigue says wryly, feigning an offended expression. "Am I not allowed to have pleasant conversation with one of your peers?"

It earns him an eye roll. "…Right."

Annette eyes Felix in particular, thinking this kind of banter would have no place if he harboured so much hatred. Soon, he catches her staring, but she doesn't look away.

"Annette." He says her name so dryly, as to not suggest anything between them. It goes without saying how _aware_ he is of his dad standing across the room. "I ran into your father in the dining hall. He's waiting for you."

She lights up in remembrance. "Ah, that's right!" Her posture straightens up and she bows, mostly to Rodrigue, before turning to Felix. "I'll…see you later?"

He nods curtly, masking his desperation to get her out of his father's prying eyes. Even now, he won't hear the end of it. Maybe she caught on, or maybe she didn't, but she scurries out of there not a moment longer. Felix lets out a sigh of relief when she does and doesn't miss the grin on Rodrigue's face as he readies for a spar.

"Sweet girl," he comments, shrugging off his coat and drawing his own blade.

Felix cannot tell if he's teasing as a father would, or trying to lower his guard. "I would prefer if you keep out of my business."

"Who says I'm meddling?"

He sighs in annoyance and unsheathes his sword. Felix is short-tempered to begin with, but Rodrigue could grate his nerves with a single look. Every moment like this resembles how they used to be, as if things could work out after all.

* * *

Fate won't have it.

Rodrigue falls in the next battle. He goes down the same way as Glenn and for a short moment, Felix despises the goddess for saddling his family with such an atrocious destiny; sacrificing themselves in the name of their king, or in this case, the boar. He'd be damned if he went out like that, not because he doesn't care for the prince, but because Dimitri better get his grip on reality soon and start fending for himself. Even now, the man is still spewing insanity and nonsense from his teeth.

Felix doesn't shed a single tear. All he can do is grit his teeth and bear it, even as the last words from his father is a whispered and choked-up apology.

Some distance away, Annette watches with grief, remembering how they used to bond over these things. Rodrigue and Gustave were hardly present and yet, she came to Garreg Mach in search for him. Felix scoffed at her, questioning how she could house a heart of forgiveness when she'd been intentionally ignored. He couldn't fully grasp the concept at the time.

But Annette sees it on his face now, the way his eyes crinkle in pain and his hands clench in tight fists, that he understands it better.

* * *

A week later, Felix is still unreachable. He spends his days sulking in the training grounds. Dimitri sulks in the church. He tells Sylvain to pass the message that he refuses to be consoled or coddled. As he takes out his frustrations on training dummies, he can't seem to forget his stupid father, dying with regret and leaving this world with an apology. Felix thinks it would have been easier if he made no effort at all in the past five years.

_Fuck._

He's interrupted sometimes. Those who don't know him usually scurry away. Sylvain stops by to bring him food from the kitchen, which looks like gruel nowadays. Mercedes stopped by once to heal his wounds. Today, it's Ingrid who opens the door.

He thinks she's here to scold him, nag him or drag him out for lunch. She acts so motherly even if she won't admit it, but she surprises him today. Silently, she takes a lance from the rack and offers to spar.

He knows early in the fight that every strike and attack of hers is touched with anger. The unspoken person in the room is undoubtedly Glenn. Recently, she's been reconsidering what it means to be a knight, no longer clouded with chivalrous tales and noble attributes. Both Rodrigue and Glenn had died with pain and regrets.

When they're both bruised and catching their breath, she drops her weapon first.

He tips his head towards her. "Still intent on becoming a knight?"

Ingrid laughs, but it's flat and empty. "Of course." Then she withdraws from battle, stepping back and putting her weapon away. Before she turns on her heel, she looks over her shoulder and gives him a quick onceover. He can't hide from her inspecting gaze.

"Felix, don't overdo it. Please? I fear you'll get reckless," she says after a while.

_Ah, there it is._

He scoffs, "I was waiting for you to say something like that."

She doesn't smile, not in the mood to joke. "I'm serious. If you die on the battlefield too, I won't forgive you," she says, which is her roundabout way of telling him she cares.

* * *

Annette attempts to visit him the next day. Sylvain finds her sitting on the bench outside the knight's hall. She's leaning back, staring at the sunset hues of the sky, legs straightened out in front of her and a small box sitting precariously on her lap. A blank gaze graces her features.

"Annette?"

She jumps and startles. He's about to dive for the sliding box until she secures it with her hands. She straightens up in her seat, eyes darting around until they settle on him. She exhales a small breath. "Oh, Sylvain. You frightened me."

"How long have you been sitting here?" he asks, because the evening chill is starting to set and she looks paler than usual.

"Haha, I don't know actually…" she answers sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. "I must have gotten carried away."

Sylvain's eyes shift from her to the knight's hall. He might act a bumbling fool most of the time, but he dissects the situation easy enough. "Let me guess, you paid our good friend Felix a visit?"

She nods her head and gestures to her gift. "I went into town today and bought some goodies for him. The kitchen hasn't been serving anything tasty as of late, so I picked out some meats and grabbed a few rolls of bread. Nothing sweet or covered in chocolate, of course."

The redhead grins at that. Felix should consider himself lucky, because he hardly deserve her kindness. "That's awfully kind of you. How come it's still sitting in your hands?"

"He told me to leave his sight."

She says it so bluntly Sylvain almost chokes on his saliva. He coughs and clears his throat, and Annette just shoots him an oblivious gaze. "Well, that's rude of him," he says when he finally gets his bearings. "I suppose he's still being a jerk then. If you want, I could give him a piece of my mind?"

She chuckles, and then shakes her head. "Thanks, but that won't be necessary. I don't think he's ready yet. Maybe I should have been more patient instead."

Sylvain resists the urge to roll his eyes. Felix, with his brash and condescending nature, doesn't deserve this at all. What's worse is he's being difficult about it. Pushing away the thought, he molds his gaze to become kinder. "You know, I figured if anyone could reach him, it would be you."

"Hmm?" Annette tilts her head curiously at him. "Why do you say that?"

Sylvain backpedals a little. "He warms up easier to you. With us, he's more stubborn."

"Oh, I see," she accepts with ease. She gulps in her throat, and he recognizes she's withholding something at the tip of her tongue. "Hey, you don't think…he's not overworking himself, is he?"

"Nah, I think he'll be fine," he reassures, not with a measure of doubt. Felix has his self-destructive ways, but he's never spiralled out of control, not like Dimitri. Funny how some people think Sylvain is the least stable of the three of them. "Trust me. He acted the same way when Glenn died, and he turned around."

Annette smiles, believing him. "Thank you."

"You seem to care for him a whole lot."

"Of course I do," she says, flushing a light pink. It leaves Sylvain wondering when she became so bold about admitting to such things.

There's a sound from behind. A heavy wooden door opening, and the clack of boots following. Felix emerges from the knight's hall, looking dragged and worn. When his gaze cuts to the redhead first, his expression becomes annoyed. "Ugh, I knew it was you running your mouth out here."

"Nice seeing you coming out of your shell," Sylvain comments too casually, not interested in treating him with caution at all. Then again, Felix refuses to be talked with any hint of consolation or pity. "You done sulking yet or what?"

The dark-haired male just scoffs and turns to Annette, who's standing now and clutching her offering between her arms. "You're still here?"

She pouts, showing him her own stubbornness. "I told you I wasn't leaving."

The moment is followed by silence where the two of them just…_stare_ at each other.

Sylvain's about to interject and tease him again, but he quickly realizes what's going on. He's played this game before – the first to look away loses. A strange, but intimate way of arguing. Felix can easily take this one because he's a petty and stubborn mule, but Sylvain pays close attention to Annette. Her lip quivers and she can't hold her pout for much longer.

To his surprise, Felix submits first. He sighs and tips his head towards the room. "Get in. You'll catch a cold sitting out here," he says without a trace of softness.

She grins at her small victory and scurries inside because she's shivering. She nods a small thanks to him when he opens the door for her. Before following after, he raises Sylvain a brow, particularly to the lopsided grin tugging the corner of his lips.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Felix is stubborn as always, not that he expects any different.

Sylvain notices he's still holding the door open.

"You coming in?"

The redhead shakes his head. "And interrupt precious time with your girl? I think I'll pass. Besides, third-wheeling isn't really my thing, as you know."

Felix puts a hand to his face and drags it all the way down. He peeks behind him in search for Annette, relieved she probably didn't hear any of that. When he looks back at Sylvain, he's already sauntering away.

"Treat her nice, Felix. She's taking care of you after all."

* * *

Later, when the muscles in his arm ache from swinging his sword, he joins her at the table by the fireplace. She's laid out a small feast for them, and sits in deep thought. When he approaches, she snaps out of her reverie. He quietly reminds himself to ask later what weighs heavy on her mind.

"Hungry?" she chirps.

He plops down on the seat in front of her with a grunt. "Starving."

For some reason, she smiles at that. He reaches for the one of the bread rolls, breaks it in half and takes one in his mouth. It's less stale than the ones they serve from the kitchen, but then he notices quickly she's not taking any for herself. He's about to ask why, but she breaks silence first.

"Felix, I always wondered…" she says, that faraway look in her eyes again. "What was your dad like?"

He squirms in discomfort, but hides it. He lets the silence go on for too long anyway.

"Sorry," she says, withdrawing her hands from the table and onto her lap. "I shouldn't have asked."

He shakes his head. "No, it's just…now is not the right time. Once the war is over, I'll tell you everything you want to know."

That evokes a small smile out of her. She gazes at him earnestly because she hopes he'll remember. "Is that a promise?"

He nods stiffly. "I promise."

* * *

Dimitri finally turns around. No one is probably happier than their professor, even if it doesn't show on her face. He offers his formal apologies to his peers and friends, and again to his beloved teacher. Felix thinks it was nice hearing it the first time, but irritating the second and third time.

Even when the meeting is over, Dimitri follows him out the door and requests to speak with him. Considering the death of Rodrigue, Dimitri feels Felix is owed an extra apology.

"Felix, I must apologize again for my untoward behaviours. Words are all I have to offer, empty as they may be, but please tell me what I must do to make it up to you because I am, once again, indebted to you and your family."

He rolls his eyes. Dimitri will follow him around and beg if he has to, so Felix saves him the trouble. It would prove more troublesome if it came down to that.

"To start, it's annoying to see you reduced to grovelling," he scoffs, unafraid of being honest. "If this is what the boar prince of Faerghus looks like, then the future is bleak."

Dimitri actually smiles at the familiarity of it. "Perhaps I could make it up to you with a spar?"

"Hmph. Sure you could beat me? I've seen you let your guard down too many times."

The blonde has a small change of heart, raising a brow at the challenge. "Perhaps it's unwise to underestimate me? You have better speed, but I'm certain I have strength on my side."

Felix huffs. He's referring to his size, of course. Dimitri has always had the physical advantage when they fight. He's taller than Sylvain now too, towering over most of them like a mountain, or a roof over a house. Even without his shabby cloak, the man appears imposing and enormous.

"I've taken down beasts like you before," he jests, throwing in a casual shrug to tick him off.

Dimitri's lone eye twitches. He's surprised by how quickly they're slipping back to their old ways. Always bickering and challenging one another. Simple conversations turning into pissing contests. Settling things with their weapons instead of their words.

"Besides, strength isn't everything. If it were that easy, I would have done it myself," Felix continues, following up with a shake of his head. "Even five years past, you still don't know a lick of magic."

Dimitri shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I doubt I would need it to defeat you."

"Are you willing to test that out?"

"Well, I offered to spar, did I not?" Dimitri only wears a smug expression because he knows it gets under his skin. Rivalry has always been part of their friendship, after all. "We could settle it this evening and determine the results of our training then."

Felix snorts, and then barely suppresses his laughter. "By 'training', do you mean the past few months you spent standing in front of the church rubble?"

Dimitri chortles, but he's hardly fazed. "To be fair, I_ have_ spent the last five years on the battlefield."

"Yes, and now you wear an eyepatch," he retorts easily. "Unless it's for show, I fail to see your point."

The prince crinkles at the insult, but he's still smirking underneath. "Oof, that one hurts."

He shrugs. "It's only your pride. Just wait till we get on the training grounds."

They settle it there. Felix turns his heel and starts to leave the room. At the door, he pauses to hurl his parting words. Dimitri is still listening and waiting for him to say it.

"Keep yourself in line, Dimitri. That's what my father asked of you before he died. Don't make his sacrifice in vain. Personally, I don't intend on dying to save your ass, so don't let it come to that."

* * *

Fhirdiad, the crown jewel and capital city of Faerghus, is finally theirs again. It took a monumental effort on their part, worthy of a celebratory feast. There's music and dancing. Lively conversation and laughter. Wine and liquor are being passed amongst the soldiers, so it's bound to end in some sort of disaster.

When the server offers to fill his glass, Felix declines. Sylvain, rowdier than usual and drunker than most, passes him a full glass of whiskey before demanding him to loosen up.

Annette sits beside him and sneaks a glance every now and then. He still wears his perpetual scowl even in celebration, but part of it is irritation for the redhead's antics on his other side. By the time dessert arrives, Sylvain is halfway done telling his exaggerated tales of bravery on the battlefield when he gets up and asks a vexed Ingrid for a dance. When he's rejected, he pulls Mercedes instead, who doesn't have the heart to refuse.

Annette, on the other hand, revels and savours each and every bite of her cake. They hardly serve desserts at the monastery, and nothing ever reaches this level of sugary sweetness. To no one's surprise, she gobbles it up in minutes. When he notices she's done, Felix nudges his serving in her direction. The expression of gratitude that flashes across her eyes is delightful. It warms his heart, even if he won't admit it.

"Say, Felix…" she starts, spooning the frosting off the top of the cake. "Ever think about the future? You know, after the war is finished."

"Nope," is his short and curt answer.

She raises him a brow, wondering if he's being difficult, or he legitimately has not given it any thought. For now, she'll take his word for it. "I suppose it's not that complicated," she muses out loud, mindlessly picking at her plate. Somehow her mind always goes back to this. "When the war is over, Dimitri will ascend the throne. Some of us will have to do the same in our house."

The two of them included, of course. Sometimes Annette forgets her nobility, much less that she's heir to the house after her uncle passes. It's been easy to brush it off because of the war.

"Does it upset you?" he asks pointedly.

She shrugs and pushes away the thought. Felix knows she'll assume her cheery façade in no time. "No, but it's just…don't you have dreams or wishes? Things you wish you could do, but maybe you're not allowed?"

He raises a brow, but he has an inkling of where she's going with this. "Is there something _you_ want to do?"

Annette sighs pensively. "Sometimes I think about becoming a teacher," she admits, staring up at the ceiling. Mercedes has told her it's far from unrealistic, but the war has dampened her hopes.

"I've always loved the school atmosphere," she continues, remembering her academy days. Some people forget she was enrolled in another school before she joining the monastery. "Sometimes, I imagine what it's like standing at a desk and explaining the basics of magic and spellcasting. I would have students of my own and I would treat them all equally, even the grumpy ones that don't want to learn. I wouldn't mind that for the rest of my life. Does that sound silly?"

When she tilts her head to him, his gaze is surprisingly tender. "Not at all. To be fair, I'm more surprised you don't dream of becoming a singer or songwriter."

He fully expects her to pout or nudge him on the shoulder, but she just laughs. He likes the sound of it; merry and bell-like. "I can't say I haven't thought about it," she tells honestly. "But I think I prefer to keep the hobby to myself, so don't go around telling people."

Annette has grown rather comfortable with the fact that he knows her secret. In quiet moments, she's even allowed herself to hum a few tunes, scribble down lyrics and sing in his presence.

"A teacher, huh?" He considers the thought only briefly. "…I think you would enjoy it. Maybe one day, you'll get to do just that."

When she smiles, it reaches her eyes. Felix has supported every decision she's made since she's known him. It's odd, considering what people say of him.

"Maybe," she echoes. "At the very least, I'll want to pass my knowledge onto my own children, if I'm ever lucky."

He snorts. "Children? You already think that far ahead?"

She shoots him her usual pout this time. "Of course I do. You don't?"

"Not when the war is still raging."

She narrows her eyes at him in suspicion. "Is that just your way of saying you don't want any?"

He chuckles at her expression and then shakes his head. "No. What I'm _saying _is that you should probably save a question like that for later. There's no point asking it now."

Her lips tug to a smirk, because she's heard this promise before. "Maybe when the war is over?"

Felix knows it too, because he's smiling as well. She's adding it to her list as they speak, but a dark thought flashes – maybe there _won't_ be time after the war. If it came down to the two of them, he'd be damned if he makes it out and not her. All his promises would be empty.

"You better not die before then," she pipes up, and even though her cheeks are half-stuffed with cake, she means it seriously. "I'll be upset if you do. You'll never get to hear the swamp beastie song either."

He snorts and wonders how she read his mind just now. Of all things, he would hate to miss out on her singing too. "Hmph. That _would_ be a shame. I suppose we'll both have to make it out then."

* * *

Enbarr is a messy affair.

After a blistering effort, all the Empire soldiers have either fallen or retreated on their own accord. Dimitri enters Edelgard's throne room to settle the war's end and Felix takes the chance to clutch at a hastily bandaged cut above his shoulder to stop it from bleeding. He doesn't bother calling Mercedes. She's busy with dealing with a graver injury; Ingrid had nothing to cushion her fall when her Pegasus was shot down as she set off. She's lucky to escape with a few fractures.

Sylvain stands nearby with a worried look. Ashe waits in silence with Dedue. Annette is nowhere in sight, but she'd been paired up with her dad. He reminds himself to find her later and make sure she's uninjured. Goddess knows she can be more stubborn than he is at times.

When Dimitri emerges from the throne room, he nods to his peers. It's the only signal they need. The Empire is finished, and just like that, they arrive at the moment they've long dreamed and waited, except it doesn't end with raucous cheering and celebration. The sound of silence reigns above all.

Dimitri appears distraught more than anything. Beside him, Byleth's expression is unreadable, but more so than usual.

Felix lets his gaze wanders aimlessly across the blood-stained palace, thinking now would be a good time for rest. The last thing he remembers before his vision turns black is the evening sky.

* * *

When he finally comes to, his mind latches to the sound of humming. A sweet, lilting tune. He knows that sound from anywhere.

With a groan, he blinks the blur out of his eyes. Despite the steady throb in his head, ribs and legs, he pushes himself up anyway. The humming stops and her hand goes to his back to help him sit. He fixes her a soft gaze, thinking he wouldn't mind waking up like this every morning and she's the first thing he sees.

"You idiot," is the first thing she says, naturally. Her smile is quickly replaced with a more serious expression to match her scolding. He braces himself for her reprimand. "You're lucky, you know that? You lost a lot of blood out there. Thank goodness we found you when we did, otherwise you would be dead. Why didn't you say anything?"

He's hurt her. Just for that, he supposes he deserves it. "I'm sorry."

Her lips quiver, but her anger doesn't hold out for much longer. With him, it wasn't meant to last. Annette can never fathom how slowly, and then somehow all at once, he became someone to lose.

"Don't do it again," she says, sounding defeated.

Felix softens his gaze. "I won't."

It's all she needs to hear. She exhales deeply and sits at his side to embrace him. Her arms are shaking, he realizes. She's desperate to feel him, and hear his heart beating. He doesn't have the heart to tell her she's pressing against one of his wounds, so he just rubs her back to soothe her.

When she pulls away, a smile graces her features once again.

"How long do I have to stay here?" he can't help but ask. It's nice they pitched a medical tent for him, but as far as his injuries go, he'd rather be out and about than be bound to a makeshift bed.

"Couple of days, probably," she says. His expression sours, and she pokes him on the cheek. "Hey now, _I _was the one who healed you. I'm not about to let you waste my efforts."

He scoffs, "I promise I'll be careful."

She's still shaking her head, unfortunately. "Nope. Nice try, but you're staying here until you get better. Besides, I _know_ you, Felix. You're itching to go back to the training grounds as we speak."

He harrumphs like a petulant child. If he crossed his arms too, he could be mistaken for one. She takes it as a sign that his recovery is well in motion.

Afterwards, she updates him on the war's end. Who's alive and who's not. How their classmates are faring – alive, but not entirely whole. Dimitri in a rough mental shape, but not spiralling as he once was. The Professor seems to be missing, claiming she has matters to investigate about the war's origins. Even at a time of rest, she does not stop.

When Felix asks about her plans, her tone shifts slightly. She takes his hand and wraps it in hers.

"I'm going home to visit my mom. My father's coming with me, actually." She says it with a certain glee. A sense of pride, too. He's proud of her as well, because she's been wanting this since their days at the academy.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

He inhales and exhales. By instinct, he squeezes her hand tighter. She chuckles at his reaction.

"We'll see each other again, dummy," she says, as if reading his mind. "There's a lot I have to ask you now that the war is over. Don't tell me you've forgotten."

He smirks at the throwback and they talk until sundown when he's hit with a wave of exhaustion. He knows when he wakes tomorrow, she'll be gone like a distant dream, so he doesn't let her go until she promises to write to him. How odd that he's never given her a confession, and yet he's comfortable requesting as such. She jokes that he's becoming soft, but consents to the idea when he promises to do the same. After that, he memorizes her face and kisses the back of her hand. When he falls asleep, he hopes he dreams of her.

"Finally the world is at peace…" she whispers to herself, when she thinks he's sleeping.

There's silence, and then, very softly, she starts to sing.

* * *

Dimitri's coronation is three months later.

It will mark their first reunion since the war's end. Most of them returned to their homes to resume their positions, help restoration efforts or bury the dead.

When the ceremony is underway, Annette stands with her father and uncle to represent the Dominic household. She spies Mercedes sitting at the front with Ashe and silently gives her a wave. In the front, Dimitri stands with the other dukes, most of them young and newly inducted. Felix and Sylvain are among them. Byleth stands by the throne too. She's taken the role of the archbishop, but Annette likes to think she's still their professor at heart.

Annette deliberately stares at new king of Faerghus. It's obvious he still needs Byleth and that he depends on her – _everyone_ depends on her, she's the head of the church after all – but for him, it goes deeper than that. It's as if he relies on her to keep him going, day after day. Like she's all that holds him together.

It's endearing to watch. Annette had been right about her suspicions all along.

Later, she wades through the crowd to find one of the people she's missed the most. When she finds him, she lights up. Seeing him certainly feels like coming home. There's a small crinkle in his eye when he finds her too. He barely gets out his snarky 'hello' when she takes his hand and pulls him outdoors for more privacy.

"Hasty, aren't you?" he comments, even though he doesn't resist.

Annette lets him go when there are no prying eyes to intervene. "You can stop me anytime, _Duke Fraldarius_," she greets teasingly. She throws in a small curtsy when she pronounces his title.

He scoffs in mild disgust. "Ugh, I'll have none of that."

She laughs, warm and familiar. "Did you miss me?"

He wobbles his hand in uncertainty. "Meh. I hardly noticed you were gone," he teases back.

She hits him on the shoulder, and then he catches her hand in his. "That's too bad. I wanted to make it up to you."

"Oh? And how are you planning to do that?"

She hums and muses out loud, "I could offer you a spar?"

"I think I've got enough soldiers at home to spar with."

"What if I sing you a song then?"

He remembers the sound of her voice, all of a sudden. Soft lullabies she sang before he fell asleep. Strange lyrics she penned to distract him from war. Her soft voice offering peace to the screams in his sleep. When he looks at her and studies her face, he's reminded of the small things she did to sustain him.

Impulsively, Felix leans closer, heart racing furiously in his chest.

She meets him halfway.

The kiss is soft, tentative and clumsy. It takes a moment to orient themselves to each other, but it hardly matters. He smells clean, not like resin or metal. She tastes like the bubbling champagne they served at the hall. Warmth unfurls in her chest and she grips the front of his shirt tighter when she realizes how much she's missed him.

When they pull away, she smiles and tries to memorize the details of his face.

"I'm glad you're alive," she says the first thing in her mind. She's acutely aware of how offbeat and un-romantic it sounds, but in a post-war period, it seems fitting. In return, he just chuckles.

He doesn't say anything back, still not much for soft and soothing words. Instead, he pulls her again and kisses her deeper until all her senses and thoughts are filled with him.

Finally, they live in a world that knows peace. She looks forward to telling him stories, singing to him, getting him to laugh or smile, and asking him all the hard questions, but for now, this is enough.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I paired these two up in my play through and it was worth it. I loved them so much I put it into writing. If you've made it this far, I sincerely hope you enjoyed the work. – Mint


End file.
